


Strong Tides

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [35]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: This time, a mishap in a parallel universe pulls Jean-Luc out of his. The new universe is both like and unlike his own, in some subtle ways.
Relationships: Jean-Luc Picard/Deanna Troi
Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222406
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is enough of a standalone story that it can go up sooner rather than wait until after the edited version of Actions Speak Louder and the other shorter works that are going to precede it in the series. It doesn't fit into any of the larger plot arcs.
> 
> This is the rewrite of the other half of the plot from Love and ConseQuences -- the parallel universe story minus Q.

Always toward absent lovers love's tide stronger flows.

\-- Sextus Propertius, _Elegies_

**Stardate 55570.43 (Jan 10 2379)**

**Captain Jean-Luc Picard, USS Enterprise, 1701-E**

Jean-Luc Picard came to the daycare as he did most days, at the end of Alpha Shift. Tessa, Malia’s assistant, brought Yves to him carefully. “Here you go, Captain,” she said as she laid the sleeping four-month-old in his arms.

“Thank you. Good night, Tessa.”

Yves awakened on the way to their quarters in the turbolift. The mildly-upset noises would escalate, if nothing were done. Jean-Luc brought him up to his shoulder and gently rubbed his back. It seemed to work for a few minutes, but as he left the lift and headed for their door, the baby made the plaintive “eh-eh” that was usually prelude to crying.

“You don’t have to cry,” Jean-Luc said hopefully, nervously. He still found it somewhat alarming when Yves went into a full-on wailing fit, no matter how many times he’d done it. Rather than sitting down, he walked around the living room with Yves, ever-so-carefully bouncing him in his arms. Since he couldn’t read to him while walking, he recited all Starfleet General Orders and followed up with the Directives, then moved on to the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition, while Yves fussed. As he reached the Tenth Rule of Acquisition (Greed is eternal), the baby finally fell asleep again. He crept into the nursery and laid his son in the crib. He spent a few minutes gazing down at the child he’d spent most of his life denying he would ever have.

The process of having a child had been humbling. How many times had he watched Deanna suffer symptoms that ranged from discomfort to suffering, and felt helpless? It was difficult enough to watch her be injured in the line of duty, difficult enough to have a more intimate understanding of what her empathy meant, day to day. He had already decided not to even bring up the possibility of having another child. Despite all the moments of joy -- feeling the baby moving about in utero for the first time, Deanna’s joy as she held Yves, and the ongoing sense of awe and love he felt for their son -- he couldn’t ask her to go through the pain again. Especially the last weeks of the pregnancy, and those few weeks after; no, he couldn’t expect her to go through any of it twice.

He reached down to brush a finger lightly along the infant’s smooth, rounded cheek. Yves yawned in his sleep. Jean-Luc left him quietly, closing the door to the nursery, and as he crossed to the bedroom, the door opened and Deanna came home.

“Hello,” he exclaimed, turning around and holding out an arm. She came to him for an embrace; he hadn’t seen her all afternoon. There were cadets to drill and she’d been in Sciences, checking on the latest system survey in process.

“I’ve been thinking about dinner for the past hour -- I’m hungry,” she said, pulling away after a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Then we shan’t wait -- we can talk about the day after we replicate food.”

As usual, she chose a mixture of Betazoid and Terran. While her choices ranged wide some days, she was most comfortable with dishes closer to home. His choices trended the same, usually something with which he felt comfortable. So it was no surprise to see a large salad, based on Betazoid blue leaf lettuce, on her plate.

“Marie said she’s about to have her baby,” Deanna commented as they sat down at the table. They had been communicating in messages with his sister-in-law since seeing her on Earth nearly eleven months ago, and he hadn’t yet listened to her latest missive. But clearly Deanna had.

“I wish I could guarantee we could be there to meet the newest member of the family.” It would also be rewarding to introduce Marie to her nephew. But there were several more weeks left in the current assignment, and likely another waiting for them that would give them little to no time for the long trip home. He took the first bite of his meal, a chicken tarragon, and decided it was passable.

“Maybe we can manage a real conversation over subspace after little Hope is born. We have a challenging day tomorrow,” she said, gathering salad on the tines of her fork. “We’re going closer in, to let astrometrics have a closer sweep of the smallest of the trinary stars. I anticipate we’ll be at yellow alert and engaging metaphasic shields just to be safe.”

“We can brief Geordi in the morning. He’ll need to have his staff on point monitoring systems to keep everything balanced with adequate power to all systems.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing about your meetings with today’s cadets,” she said with an amused smile.

Jean-Luc huffed at that -- she knew full well before she sent a cadet his way how it would go, and the second of the two he’d met with that morning had been a challenge. There were more Klingons making their way into the Academy, and Klar seemed to think that because he had been recommended to Starfleet by Worf, he would be a favorite aboard the _Enterprise_ and assured a position on the flagship.

“Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I’m going to practice for the next concert, and I hope _someone_ cooperates so we can practice docking procedures.”

Most of his attempts at metaphors for sex were intended to make her laugh, but this one, like so many, gained him only an eye roll. But she smiled at the thought of sex. “He’s asleep?”

“Yes, he fussed on the way home, but he went back to sleep once he was in the crib. I know he’ll need a feeding and a new diaper, but I have high hopes.”

She picked up her glass. “It’s been quite a few weeks, hasn’t it?”

Jean-Luc stared at her as if she had just insulted his intelligence.

“Oh, sweet fish,” she chided, smiling. “I suspect you have a calendar somewhere marking the days? Never fear, I have a backup plan. Geordi said he would be happy to babysit so we can have a night out on the holodeck. And as it happens I’ve booked one, for three hours tomorrow night. So if Yves interrupts your ‘docking procedure,’ there’s always tomorrow.”

He finished chewing another bite of chicken as she spoke, and waved his fork at her. “You know, I have a theory about why infants have this sixth sense of when to interrupt their parents.”

“You do?” She was already amused, as she chewed.

“I think it’s an evolutionary advantage -- if an infant can interrupt the conception of competing infants, he has a better chance of taking up all the parents’ time and getting all the food.”

“I think that it’s much simpler -- babies cry a lot.” She was giggling at him now. “But you get points for trying.”

“How many points? And to what advantage can I use them?”

“Hmmm. I’ll let you know,” she replied, her eyes bright with possibilities.

Of course, not five minutes later, her head turned as she sensed the inevitable -- she left a little of her salad on her plate and went to the nursery. As the door opened for her the cries of a hungry little Betazoid-human hybrid were audible. Jean-Luc asked the replicator for a bottle of formula as he stood up to follow her.

* * *

**Stardate 55570.43 (Jan 10 2379)**

**Captain Jean-Luc Picard, USS Enterprise, 1701-D**

“Commander?”

Data’s head turned, as he glanced back over his left shoulder. “The anomaly is emitting increasing amounts of radiation. I am starting to detect tetryons. I recommend that we retreat to a safer distance and raise shields.“

“Make it so. Helm, back us off, per Data’s recommendation. Yellow alert.” Jean-Luc Picard eyed the muted purple and blue haze ahead of them.

“Shields up,” Lieutenant-Commander Yar responded from tactical.

“Maybe we should plot a course around it,” Commander Crusher suggested.

Picard glanced at his old friend and considered. “Safer to give it a wide berth and go on with our mission, that’s true, but it appeared out of nowhere, and we should make the attempt to catalog it. It may be similar to a phenomena already identified, an unstable wormhole with an unpredictable vacillating entry.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s your call. Sir.”

_Sickbay to bridge. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m starting to get patients in here who are reporting headaches. Some of them are species who are sensitive to radiation, and that’s what my scans are indicating is behind it._

Picard exhaled audibly, and straightened his uniform. “We’re moving away from an anomaly that suddenly appeared in front of us, Dr. Crusher. Hopefully that will resolve the issue. Keep us apprised. Picard out.”

Data turned to the helmsman. “Increase speed to full impulse. Radiation is increasing rapidly.”

“On second thought -- helm, plot us a course away from the anomaly and go to warp as soon as it’s safe,” Picard ordered. This didn’t sound worth the effort, after all. “We’ll go around it. Record the location in the logs and we’ll have Starfleet send another vessel to check it in a month, from a safer distance.”

“Discretion being the better part of valor,” Jack muttered. “And not taking chances with extremely radioactive phenomena being just the smart thing to do.”

Data was adjusting sensors as the helmsman sent them back along their course, full impulse. Picard saw the android’s head come up suddenly as the lieutenant’s fingers tapped the warp engine controls, and as the android started to speak the _Enterprise_ jumped to warp.

There was an incredible noise, and simultaneously a flash of white obscured Picard’s vision.

He woke an unknown amount of time later, face down on carpet. His body felt sore, and his head rang with the worst tinnitus he’d ever experienced. Trying to move his arm proved he shouldn’t try that for a while. He lay there, cheek to floor, trying to master breathing without pain.

As the tinnitus decreased and his body stopped throbbing quite so much, he thought he heard a baby crying. He pushed himself up slowly, raised himself to his knees -- reaching to lean on the wall, he got one foot on the floor, then worked to push himself upward until the other joined it.

He was in a nursery, judging from the crib and the presence of other baby-related furnishings and toys, and it wasn’t anywhere he’d ever been before. The child crying in the crib, once he managed to wobble over to lean on it, was screaming in terror.

“This isn’t right,” he muttered.

But there was a screaming child, and no one else about. He reached down to pick it up to comfort it.

* * *

**_\-- get the defibrillator --_ **

_Wait. Look at this._

**_Sir --_ **

_Wait. No, get the -- over there -- yes, thank you. Please clear the room, get the first officer down here. We have a situation._

Jean-Luc groaned, taking a quick inventory of all the body parts that ached and throbbed. Somewhere in his head, there must be a dozen blacksmiths with anvils in use. He didn’t need to guess that something _different_ had happened; the voice of Beverly Crusher giving orders said that he was no longer where he should be.

The baby had been crying, they’d gone into the nursery, Deanna had gotten a page that she left the room to address, and then some force had crushed him to the floor, while making him feel as though he’d been turned inside out.

“Wait,” Beverly said when he tried to sit up. Her hand pushed his shoulder down firmly. He heard the whining of the tricorder.

“Cellular RNA,” he croaked, though it hurt to move his jaw. He already knew what it had to be, and knew that was a key to hurrying this crew toward a solution, so best to get it out there in case another shift happened. “What… is the stardate?”

A pause, as she no doubt considered this request and what it could mean. “55570.8, sir. Did you mean to say ‘cellular RNA’ or….”

“Examine it. If I’m correct, you’ll see that my quantum signature varies from the one in your universe.” He was feeling improved as he spoke. It wasn’t feeling as though every cell in his body was at war with the others, now, so much as he felt like he’d been sent on an away mission via a torpedo launcher instead of a transporter.

“Universe?”

He opened his eyes. Beverly’s concerned face was right where he expected it to be, as she hovered over the biobed. Beyond her there were other people. Ogawa, a couple of other familiar faces that he’d had numerous occasions to see in Sickbay -- and on the other side of the room, wearing a bright blue dress, her hair piled on her head and spilling down to her shoulders, was Deanna Troi. She had her arms tightly crossed and looked quite upset.

They were all wearing clothing inconsistent with the stardate. Old uniforms, all of them unitards in sickbay blue. And the sickbay was different, everything in lighter colors and the room was larger. This was the 1701-D.

“I’ll just lay here and wait for the first officer,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t mind the wincing.”

Beverly pressed her lips together and seemed to be looking him up and down, her hands tucked in the pockets of that blue lab coat she’d always worn. “Where did you get the outfit?”

“That’s another reason to have a look at that quantum signature,” he said wearily.

“All right,” she said at last. “I’ll be back in a bit. Give you two a minute.” She glanced at Deanna with a reassuring smile, as she turned and headed out, waving the remaining staff with her.

As the current version of Deanna came over, she smoothed her hands over the front of her dress, making her pregnancy very obvious. About seven months, he estimated. He decided not to be rude and ask whose it was though he was very curious.

Although, it might be easy to tell. Her face gave away more distress than he would expect from a member of the crew. “They said you collapsed on the bridge,” she said tearfully. Then her brow wrinkled. “Why….”

She must be sensing a difference in him. “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out to take her hand gently.

Now she was crying in earnest again. “I don’t understand!”

A man entered the room. From the three pips, this was the first officer. Jean-Luc stared at the man in shock. “Johnny, how you feeling?” Jack Crusher said, as he approached and put an arm across Deanna’s shoulders. “You okay, hon?”

“It isn’t him,” Deanna exclaimed tearfully. “I don’t understand how!”

“Well… I’ll admit I don’t know how he managed the uniform change,” Jack said. “But it’s obviously Jean-Luc Picard, right?”

Jean-Luc pushed himself upward, swinging his legs down the side of the biobed. “I am. But she’s correct. I’m not the _same_ one. Please what was going on before he collapsed?”

Jack responded slowly, going along with it, doubt in his eyes. “We were backing away from an anomaly we were investigating. Went to warp a little too soon, and there was a flash and a boom -- we’re holding position now and repairing as fast as we can.”

That was the least technical report Jean-Luc had heard from a first officer -- descriptive enough, though. He avoided comment on his counterpart’s lax standards, focused on the situation instead. “So this anomaly, were there any subspace-tearing rifts involved?”

Jack let his arm drop from her shoulders. “I wish I could answer that. Unfortunately sensors aren’t functioning…. So where did you come from, if you’re not our version of Captain Picard?”

“Have you heard of the theory that there are many parallel realities, existing alongside ours?”

“It’s been a while but I think there might have been an incident I heard about that involved some sort of alternate universe. Is that what you’re saying happened?”

“The stardate that the good doctor gave me says that I must be from another reality. In mine, we’ve had a few uniform changes, and this vessel was mine, but destroyed some years ago. And you have been dead for quite a bit longer than sixteen years.”

“Then it’s all different there,” Deanna blurted. “So you aren’t the father of my children.”

He sighed heavily, at that. Now that his body was adjusting, his nervous system settling down, he could feel the familiar ache in his chest. “Not all things are different,” he said wistfully, thinking about his wife and child.

Beverly returned, giving him the once-over; the fact that he was sitting up and not wincing in pain must have been enough to keep her from putting him back on the bed. “I see why you wanted us to check. It explains differences -- there are some old injuries that aren’t otherwise explainable. Mr. Data informs me that you’re correct, that you are not from our reality, and he’s analyzing our sensor data to understand how you got here.”

“I can say that reversing this is not hopeless. And there was something that triggered the shift -- I suspect it might be the last thing that happened just before I got here. It sounds like it was engaging the warp engines.”

“So, what happens if we try to go to warp again?” Jack asked. " _If_ that's what triggered it."

“Another shift. You might get a different version of me, if it's a similar phenomena -- we lost count of all the versions we detected. The It’s what happened to the last officer I know who was in this situation -- he shifted between parallels each time a particular device was activated.”

“All right. Well. I’ll leave you to the doctor, until you’re discharged, at which point you can come to the bridge and we’ll talk -- we’ll just hold our position for now.” Jack gave Beverly a look, turned a reassuring smile on Deanna, and left.

“You should go,” Beverly said softly, touching Deanna’s arm. “We’re going to do everything we can to get him back.”

Jean-Luc had the impression Deanna was about to break down. But she spun and hurried off, her skirt billowing around her legs. After she was gone, Beverly turned back to him sadly.

“As far as I can tell, you’re fine. There’s no reason to keep you here.”

“Then I’ll get out of your way. Before I go, however, I wonder if you could do me a favor?”

She gave him the thin smile that said she too was doing the best she could, despite everything. “Sure, if it’s something I can do.”

“Relationships here are a little different -- and there are obviously some differences in staffing. If you could update me on the senior officers and give me a little of my counterpart’s history, it might help me understand how to avoid stepping on toes.”

* * *

Picard soothed the baby until it stopped crying, and while the child whimpered and wriggled in his arms, it occurred to him that the infant was very similar to his own, when they’d been tiny. The hair, the eyes, the face, all reminded him especially of his older daughter.

“Captain.”

He turned, reflexively tightening his arm on the baby. Deanna Troi stood there in the door, in a strange uniform. Obviously Starfleet, from the badge on the chest, but black with gray shoulders, with a red undershirt. Three pips -- this was _not_ what he expected. Of course, he had no idea what to expect at all. Being suddenly transported to a strange place, then to have his wife appear, looking and acting nothing like herself -- was this a dream?

It seemed all too real. Deanna was wide-eyed and seemed as surprised as he. She came to him slowly, holding out her arms.

“I don’t know what to make of this,” he confessed, handing the infant to her. She went through all the usual little movements of a mother checking her baby and consoling him, while watching Picard with suspicion.

“I don’t either. But I suspect there was some phenomena that brought you here from a parallel universe,” she said with weary acceptance that suggested she had good reason for the theory.

Picard shook his head, trying to feel less disoriented and odd. The initial pain was dissipating, at least. “Is this the _Enterprise_?”

“It is. Come with me.” He wasn’t used to orders from her -- but then, she was not _his_ Deanna, and this was not his ship. She had to be the first officer. He wondered who the baby’s father was.

She led him into a large room, offered him a beverage, and seated him in a comfortable chair. Then started to contact people -- Dr. Mengis, Mr. deLio, Mr. Carlisle. LaForge was a familiar name, at least. When they got there, they filed into the room and stopped -- stood in a group and stared at him.

“This isn’t our captain,” Troi said.

“Is this like that time Worf was….” LaForge began, addressing Troi.

“I think it must be. But we’re not experiencing any unusual phenomenon, so I would assume that whatever happened must have originated in his universe,” she said, holding the baby against her chest. “I went to answer a call, and when I got back to the nursery he was there, instead of the captain.”

“We were examining a rapidly-expanding anomaly,” Picard said. “I was on the bridge. We had the shields up, we were retreating as quickly as possible. The officer at the helm tried to take us to warp and that was the last thing I remember.”

“What sector were you in?” Carlisle, the young blonde, asked. For some reason he was wearing some sort of medieval costume; possibly had been on the holodeck.

“Beta Torcata, traveling toward a new system with a trinary star. The anomaly was unexpected, not on any of the charts.”

Meanwhile, the doctor had approached and was taking readings of Picard with a tricorder. “The tricorder doesn’t pick up anything anomalous but there are notable differences in physiology. He did not, for example, swap the artificial heart for a different one in the past week since his last physical. His age is approximately the same, however.” The doctor stepped back, folded his tricorder shut, and turned to the commander.

They were not, Picard noted, asking him any questions. That suggested an abundance of caution. Warranted, he thought appreciatively, when the captain’s identity was suspect. He noticed all eyes were on the commander, standing there holding her quietly-snuffling child. She stared at him with wide eyes, inscrutable, appearing not at all perturbed.

“Who are you?” she asked at last.

“Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Serial number SP-937-215. Currently assigned to the USS Enterprise, 1701-D.” He paused, not caring to reveal more than that just yet. If she were as capable as his wife, she would be able to tell he was being honest.

“Senior staff meeting in the morning,” Troi said, “Nine hundred hours. Inform the Beta watch officer to be particularly mindful of any anomalous readings.”

“Aye, sir,” Carlisle replied. His concerned expression was gone, just with the commander’s single order. That was a sign of a tightly-knit crew, that rapport that reassured the officers.

“Geordi, any issues with the engines?” Troi asked.

“Not a one. So far,” he replied, glancing at Picard. “No one’s reported any odd phenomena either.”

“deLio, have a few teams do a shipwide sweep to check for any other possible visitors,” Troi ordered. “Dismissed.”

They all left, and Deanna sat down on the couch, settling the infant in her lap. Picard watched her now with an appreciation for her composure. “If this has happened before, you should be able to swap the two of us back to where we belong?”

“I don’t know. But I will do my best to see that you get home, and my husband returns.”

“Husband,” he echoed. “Then this is his son.”

She smiled down at the infant, caressed his head, which had sparse, wispy black hair covering it. “Yves was very upset when he vanished.”

“You must have sensed when he went,” Picard said quietly.

Her sharp look confirmed it. “I was on my way back from Sickbay. It… felt like a blow to the gut. And you were in a lot of pain, and Yves was terrified. By the time I got there you were both calm.”

“After three children, I can calm down a baby.” He smiled at her, thinking of his own children.

She seemed to have difficulty looking at him. Or, she was just that caught up in the child. His own Deanna, and other mothers he had known, tended to be that involved in the first months of the child’s life.

“There is a suite two doors aft,” she said. “I will request that you remain in them until the briefing at nine hundred.”

“Are you in command of this vessel?”

“I am now,” she said faintly, picking up the child in her arms.

“I understand your caution, but I don’t intend to cause any harm to anyone. I’m as motivated to get home as you are to get him back. My wife is pregnant with our fourth child.”

Her expression softened at that; she smiled sadly at him. “I hope we can get you home, then. Is your wife….”

“Is she you? Yes. But she’s not an officer.”

“That would explain your surprise. Not to be rude, but I’m very tired. If you would go to your quarters, please.”

“Of course.” Picard stood up and headed for the door. Two doors aft, he walked into the empty quarters and glanced around, then headed in to further assess the differences.

As he knew he would, he started to miss his family. The noise of the children at dinner, putting them to bed… sitting down to stew alone was when it sank in at last.

It really wasn’t a dream, he told himself, after recycling the dishes and going to the viewport to stare out at a nebula’s shades of magenta and purple. He wasn’t imagining it.

“Computer. Is there any recorded information on travel into parallel realities, or universes?”


	2. Chapter 2

As he emerged from the lift, Jean-Luc surveyed the bridge and noticed one the differences of which Beverly had spoken -- Yar was at tactical, instead of Worf. On the main viewer he noted the anomaly, a distant flower of greens and blues. He slowly made his way down the bridge.

Jack glanced up and smiled, gestured for him to join them, so he did so. A young woman and Geordi, still wearing a visor, were standing with Jack in the center of the bridge. Jean-Luc glanced from face to face with as much of a smile as he could muster given the circumstance and the hollow space in his chest. He missed his wife already. 

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he said.

The woman, a lieutenant, seemed surprised by the difference in uniform; she gave him a once-over. “I was just updating the commander about the status of repairs, sir.”

“We’re about a day from restoring warp,” Geordi said. “The burst of radiation from the anomaly caused system-wide malfunctions, and we’re still inspecting the EPS system. One of the conduits had cracks, we can’t afford to stress the system without making sure there aren’t more fractured conduits.”

“We’re about six hours from restoring sensors,” the woman said. 

“Keep up the good work.” Jack glanced at Jean-Luc. “This is Lieutenant Bramson, by the way.”

The confusion must be showing in his face. Jean-Luc nodded. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Sympathy suffused Bramson’s smooth, youthful face, annoying him. “No, sir. We’re on top of it.”

“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, but as you can imagine I’m eager to get home,” he said with an embarrassed little smile. 

Jack eyed him as if he’d just done something to give them pause. “Thanks, Bramson. LaForge. Captain, let’s have a chat.” He gestured toward the ready room.

Which of course held more surprises. No lion fish, though the models of the previous versions of the  _ Enterprise  _ were there. Shakespeare in his case, open to one of the sonnets. Jack went to the desk and sat down, silently affirming that though Captain Picard was in the room, he wasn’t in command. Jean-Luc hesitantly approached, then sat where Deanna always did, in the chair facing the captain’s desk. There was nothing on the gleaming black surface save the monitor on the end closest to the viewport. 

“All due respect,” Jack said, holding up his hands as if defending himself. “But I wanted to ask up front for you to let us handle it.”

“I understand your position. I understand this is not my ship,” he said. “But you understand perhaps that it is difficult for me to sit and do nothing at all.”

“I assigned you quarters on deck four,” Jack said, placing his hands flat on the desk. 

“Thank you. I hope to not need them,” Jean-Luc said.

Jack nodded, dragging his teeth over his lower lip. “What am I to you, in your universe?”

Jean-Luc thought about what Beverly had said. “By this stardate, you’re my deceased best friend, who was killed while we were still aboard the  _ Stargazer _ . Beverly was my chief medical officer for years, and transferred with me to the 1701-E, after the destruction of this vessel.”

He nodded slowly. “I see.”

“It’s different in so many ways. Deanna is… very different. Things here are not what they seem, are they? I haven’t looked at news or accessed information from the computer.”

“Indulge me -- are you married, in the other place?”

“I am. Deanna and I have a son. He’s four months old.”

Jack smiled at that. “You have three children here. Not including the one she’s carrying. You met her on Betazed while on vacation. She was there to visit relatives; she and her father actually lived on Earth.”

“What about her mother?” Jean-Luc asked, feeling concern -- it was silly, because of course Lwaxana was where she belonged in his own universe. But emotions did what they would. 

“Lwaxana died when she was five,” Jack said. 

Jean-Luc exhaled suddenly. “The details aren’t really relevant to my getting back home,” he said, more to tell himself than Jack. 

“You’re not the same, either,” Jack said. “Our captain isn’t like you.”

“He isn’t?”

Jack chuckled -- it was odd, to see this older version of the best friend he’d missed so much. But it was obvious that this man was not anything like his friend. “You should go to your quarters. Spend some time reading and asking the computer questions. He doesn’t go around talking to crew, lets me handle all the delegation and organization of tasks. You can trust that we’re doing everything we can to resolve this and get you back where you belong.”

“You don’t want to ask more questions, about what I know about previous incidents of this kind?”

“Actually there are a couple of similar incidents in the logs of other vessels for us to consider.” Jack leaned back, gazing at him, shaking his head a little. “So we were best friends? Interesting.”

Jean-Luc had the impression that he didn’t like that idea. “Deck four, you said?”

Jack nodded, watched him stand up, and as Jean-Luc left the ready room, turned to the monitor. Jean-Luc didn’t look at anyone as he went up to the turbolift. “Computer, take me to my quarters,” he said as he entered the lift.

He’d been given a diplomatic suite. On the Galaxy class it meant plenty of space and full amenities. He replicated Earl Grey and sat down. Alone. As ordered.

He didn’t like being left out. This wasn’t his universe, not his ship, however, so he tried to think of what else he could do. 

“Computer, I want information about parallel universe theory. Any instances of officers who experienced -- “ The chime sounded, interrupting. “Belay that. Come!”

The door opened, and a girl came in. As she walked she kept a hand on the massive black beast accompanying her -- Deadeye Murphy was apparently a constant as well, from one universe to another. He estimated the girl to be somewhere between seven and ten years old.

“Mother says you are not Father,” the girl announced. She was a copy of her mother, down to the hair style -- a bun on the crown of her head and ringlets cascading to her shoulders. 

“Your mother is correct.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and watched Murphy prowl ever so slowly toward him. The cat sat in front of him and raised his head, sniffing, his ears flat against his head. Jean-Luc reached slowly and put a hand on his head.

Murphy grumbled in the back of his throat and slid down until he lay on his belly on the floor, then rolled and reached up with a paw to place it on Jean-Luc’s knee. 

“He likes you,” the girl said. 

“What’s your name?”

“Moira.” She came closer, and sat on Murphy. The cat didn’t care at all, let her use him like furniture. She wore a white dress with blue trim, and patted Murphy’s belly while she sized up the person who looked like her father. 

“How did you find me here?”

“Mother said that Daddy is gone, and there’s someone who looks like him, and we shouldn’t worry because the commander will get Daddy back. Do you like kadis-kot?”

Jean-Luc smiled at the sudden left turn into something she wanted to do. “I don’t know. I’ve never played.”

Moira tilted her head and studied him, reminding him eerily of Deanna. “Maybe I should teach you. Do you have kids?”

“I do,” he said, “but he’s not old enough to play.”

“Then you need to learn,” she announced imperiously, standing and marching over to the coffee table. “Computer. I want a kadis-kot board.”

A holographic board materialized. He did as he had been doing for a while now, acquiesced to the Troi of the moment, sliding down to sit with her and listen to her lesson in the strategy of placing disks on a board in specific patterns to win the game.

They were half through a game with Murphy dozing on his back nearby when the chime went off again. This time, when he admitted the guest, it was a younger girl. About five, he thought -- she had a cap of red curls and a big grin. She wore black tights and a teal tunic.

“Moira, what are you doing?” she exclaimed.

“Teaching him how to play.” Moira smiled at him. “That’s Monima. We call her Nima for short.”

The little girl ran, navigated the obstacles of sleeping cat, coffee table, and sister to climb up on the couch then wiggle into his lap. She sprawled on his chest and hugged him, her short arms around his neck and cheek to cheek.

“I’m not your father,” he said, feeling uncomfortable and frozen in place.

“I know,” she whispered. “But I miss him a lot so it’s the next best thing.” After another minute she let go, slid down, and bounced off the couch to her feet. She ran around the table and across the room to the replicator. “Computer! Lavender Grey tea!”

“What kind of tea?” he exclaimed, surprised.

Moira shrugged as she moved a red piece. “She doesn’t like Earl Grey. Daddy adds lavender so it’s not so bitter.”

“Would you like some?” Nima brought the first cup to him, and went back to the replicator.

It was fragrant, less bitter, and acceptable. Moira accepted a cup as well, and Nima came back with a third and placed it carefully on the end of the coffee table. He supposed there were worse things than having a tea party with children who were, in some fashion, his own. 

“Do you like horses too?” Nima asked. “Daddy takes us riding. I have a pony named Peekaboo.”

“She changes what color he is every time we go to the holodeck,” Moira commented as she dropped a piece on the board. “Kadis-kot.”

“Pink is my favorite color.” Nima bounced a little where she sat on the floor. “Can I play?”

“Why not?” he said. 

Of course, it was maddening. Nima was obsessed with winning, and didn’t have any problems cheating if she could. Moira called her on it when she caught her, and eventually lost patience.

“I don’t want to play if you’re just going to cheat,” Moira said, standing up and planting her hands on her hips. “It’s not fair at all. You  _ always _ cheat.”

“I  _ don’t _ ,” Nima shrieked.

Jean-Luc held out a hand as if trying to fend off the oncoming conflict. “Wait,” he said firmly.

To his surprise, it worked. Both girls turned to look at him. But it lasted mere seconds. Moira grinned, and Nima scowled and crossed her arms. 

“We should play something else,” he offered up hopefully. It wasn’t a bad game all things considered, but he didn’t want to be in the middle while they fought about it.

Nima’s shrill response was immediate. “But  _ I want to play this! _ ”

The chime saved him from having to negotiate. This time, it was Deanna. “What are you girls doing here? Why are you not in school?” she scolded.

Moira shot him a look that said ‘oh well’ and shrugged, and raced for the door. Nima was hard on her heels. Deanna crossed the room and glared down at the cat taking up most of the floor in the corner. 

“Murphy!  _ Go home! _ ”

“MOWWWW,” he complained, but got up and trotted off to obey, ears flat against his head.

“Sorry,” Jean-Luc said, rising to his feet as the cat left the room.

“It isn’t your fault, I suppose,” Deanna said, not quite looking at him. 

“Do you have a moment to talk?”

She did look at him then, with confusion and pathos in her eyes. “About?”

Now he wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t his fault he was there, so apology seemed beside the point. He couldn’t say he was doing all that he could to fix the situation, because he wasn’t. 

“I wish there was something I could do,” he said.

To his shock, she approached slowly, then stood within arm’s length -- too close -- and looked him in the eye.

“You -- “

Before he could go on, she closed the distance and kissed him. And she wasn’t shy about it. She sent her tongue diving into his mouth, her hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders then her right one going to the back of his head while she angled for more reach.

While it satisfied that subliminal sense of attraction to her that made perfect sense, given he was married to her in another reality, it was also true that she wasn’t his wife. There was no bond present and it didn’t feel the same. He was about to pull away when she took a step backward and saved him the trouble. 

“What is it?”

“I miss my wife.”

Her eyes glittered with tears. Shaking her head, she began to pace away and then around the room, hugging herself. “You don’t find me attractive,” she whimpered.

“I didn’t say that. I’m married, and it isn’t appropriate.” 

“I sensed how you felt well enough,” she exclaimed, edging into hostility. Which was also unexpected. “What would it hurt? Who would it harm?”

“I miss her, and so I am not in the mood.” 

Her intense gaze startled him again, as she came closer once more. “You feel  _ guilty _ .”

“Yes.” It was pointless not to acknowledge it.

“Are you married to me, in the other universe?” 

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t understand the problem,” she snapped.

“She isn’t like you,” he said, because she was making it more and more obvious that it was true. The fact that the children called her ‘Mother’ and were less formal about their father was also telling.

Deanna looked around wildly as if disbelieving this situation and seeking an answer, then strode for the door. 

Jean-Luc sat down again. “Computer, discontinue game,” he said, and the kadis-kot board vanished. The abandoned tea cups remained. Sighing, he looked up at the stars visible through the overhead viewports. 

It was  _ almost  _ enough to make him wish Q would show up. 

* * *

Picard ate breakfast alone, and wondered what was going on at home. 

These quarters on this strange  _ Enterprise _ were spartan and drab, by comparison to his. Clean, shining surfaces everywhere. But black and gray were the new standard issue. He didn’t care for it.

He debated what to wear. Since he doubted he would be able to get another uniform that wasn’t the black and gray, he opted for a red sweater and a pair of black pants, and put his boots back on. He had good timing, apparently, as the computer announced someone at the door as he left the bedroom. 

Troi, in uniform, sans infant, came in. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Commander.” He thought that the uniform suited her, actually. And she seemed thinner than the version he knew.

“Would you come with me to the briefing?”

His head came up in surprise. She was offering him a choice, and inviting him to participate? “I would, thank you.”

As they walked toward the turbolift he thought she seemed better. She had her hair up in an interesting braid coiled on her head. His wife rarely took the time to do her own hair. She frequented the ship’s salon.

“How is the baby today?”

She glanced at him, her eyebrow rising. “Yves is doing very well. You seem to like children.”

“My children are the most fulfilling part of my life,” he said, thinking about Moira’s sharp observations, Nima’s endless enthusiasm and mischief, and Rowan’s sense of humor.

“It brings you great satisfaction, thinking about them.” She smiled, and the genuineness of the expression made him sad. And her next response, concern, made him sadder. She touched the red panel and the lift stopped. “What is it?”

“I am certain that the differences between our two realities will only become more and more apparent, as we go along. It’s obvious that you respect and love your husband, and that your officers respect and trust you. That in itself is enough to tell me that this is a very different universe, indeed.”

“You don’t feel you can entirely trust her, but you love her,” she guessed. 

“In some fashion, yes. Not as I did at the start when I thought she was genuinely in love with me. One must show a certain level of approval and affection, to have some semblance of peace in return. I’m not entirely sure why she is as she is.”

“Jean-Luc,” she said, distressed -- on his behalf, apparently. 

He leaned against the wall of the lift and closed his eyes, at his own emotional response to that. Laughing bitterly, he put his hand to his forehead. 

“Whatever is going on with her, you can change it,” she said, gripping his arm.

“I don’t see that happening,” he said sadly, letting his hand drop. “But I appreciate your optimism.”

“You could leave her.”

“There would always be some amount of time that the children would be with her, without me,” he said patiently. “I don’t intend to allow that. I’d rather they have the support of someone who genuinely supports their emotional growth, instead of teaching them to focus only on appearances and invalidating their emotions. Maintaining the status quo until they are all old enough to be self sufficient is my main goal.”

Deanna’s eyes held anger, sympathy, and sadness, and as it all faded again she let her hand drop. “Computer, resume.” The lift moved onward, and she sighed. “We can talk about this after the briefing. But I think you are giving up prematurely.”

“I suppose I should be open to suggestions. Certainly I’ve found no hope in my own universe.”

* * *

After an hour of sitting in the suite reading over the news, Jean-Luc couldn’t take it any longer. He asked the computer whether a holodeck was available, and headed for holodeck three. 

In this universe, the Federation was smaller. There were so many differences -- the Cardassians were more advanced and more aggressive, and diplomatic efforts had failed. The Federation had splintered. Member worlds had allied themselves with the Cardassians out of fear. The news from Earth made it sound like most people were anticipating an invasion. The _Enterprise_ was one of the few vessels actually exploring, in sectors far from Cardassian space; their primary goal seemed to be finding worlds sufficient for colonizing. And the technology seemed far behind. The engines were underpowered, the weapons too. 

Beverly’s description of the senior staff and their relationships seemed lacking, now. None of the people in this universe trusted him; that was obvious. The children were without guile, didn’t withhold anything, and now that he had listened to logs dictated by his doppelganger he understood why. It sounded like the version of himself in this universe mainly focused on being the nurturing parent that his wife was not. Deanna Troi had not lost her father but her mother, and sounded like a devious version of herself. There were indications that she was actually able to manipulate people’s emotions, which might explain her behavior earlier. He wondered if she’d tried and failed. Maybe having a bond with his own wife protected him somehow from another version of her.

As he stood in the arch contemplating the list that came up on the menu when he entered the holodeck, the door opened again, startling him. A young man just a few inches shorter than he came inside. A boy, Jean-Luc thought, getting a better look at his face. 

“Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to talk to you,” the boy said. “I’m Rowan Picard. My sisters told me about you.”

“They did?” Jean-Luc smiled at the boy -- there was a definite resemblance, he had his father’s nose and eyes. His hair was dark and thick, wavy rather than curly, and just as messy as Jean-Luc remembered his being, at that age. In fact, Rowan looked a lot like pictures of him at thirteen. He’d been looking at albums with Deanna lately. 

“Moira said you’re honest, and a lot like Dad. Mother complained about how rude you were. So I’m pretty sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not sure what to say to that.”

Rowan grinned. He glanced at the yellow-on-black grid. “Computer. Load program Picard 4.”

The scene that materialized was new to Jean-Luc. It appeared to be a ruin of some sort; crumbling white stonework, covered with vines and surrounded by large-leafed plants. And it became hot and humid.

“Some of the ruins on Betazed,” Rowan said. “Dad was showing us some of the places he’s participated in archaeological work. Do you do that too?”

“I do,” Jean-Luc exclaimed. “When I can. It hasn’t been a frequent pastime lately. You enjoy history?”

“Ancient history. More recent history is hard,” the boy said. He crossed the rough rocky patch of ground and sat on one of the large stones. Jean-Luc took that as an invitation and followed suit. 

“I’ve been looking at recent history. I agree,” Jean-Luc said. “In my universe, it’s very different. We negotiated peace with the Cardassians and the Federation is much larger, much more stable. Though we had a large conflict with a totalitarian regime from another quadrant, we’re recovering with more stability than this version of the Federation appears to be.”

“Dad said that he’s old enough to remember when it was different. He thinks that people who have lost hope behave very differently, and that it would be completely different, if we had won the war, or at least negotiated a stalemate. What do you think?”

Jean-Luc gazed at the child who very likely resembled Yves, in twelve years, and missed his family. Missed the officers who trusted him, missed the ship even -- missed his own life. He thought about his wife, and the ongoing ache in his chest turned into the dark hole of loss in which he’d spent half the night, trying not to give up hope.

“I think he is probably correct,” Jean-Luc said.

Rowan seemed close to tears. “You miss your family a lot. What are they like?”

“My wife looks like your mother, but she is not the same. My son is four months old.”

“How are you going to get back to them?” Rowan asked. 

“I don’t know.” Jean-Luc expected that his own crew would be working on the problem, and that felt like hope. He was finding it difficult to believe the officers on this ship had a chance of success. 

It wasn’t helping to think about this.

“What do you intend to do when you are older? The Academy?”

He may have been only twelve or thirteen, but Rowan looked old, thinking about that question. Serious and, as he answered, bleak. “I might go to the Academy. It will give me somewhere to go that isn’t here. Dad says I should travel -- on Earth, and maybe to Betazed. I’ve told him before that we should go together, that things would be different if we aren’t on a starship. Mother isn’t happy here. She wanted all of us to go back to Earth.”

“Your father doesn’t lie to you,” Jean-Luc said softly.

“No. He can’t,” the boy said, shrugging.

“You’re empathic already?” Jean-Luc thought he remembered that it was something Betazoids developed later.

“Please don’t tell people. Mother doesn’t know. I don’t want to upset things.”

Jean-Luc stared at the child who was growing up too fast, in a universe which he had to hide important developmental milestones from one of his parents, and suddenly felt suffocated.

Rowan stared back -- unsurprised, serious and ignoring the tears in the corners of his eyes. 

“We should do something.” Jean-Luc stood up suddenly, looking around again. “Would you like to go riding?”

“Sure. Computer, load program Picard 2, variant 4.”

As Rowan stood up the scenery shifted. They were now standing in front of a big gray barn, and several horses were tied outside. 

“Arabians,” Jean-Luc exclaimed in surprise. “Excellent.”

When the boy didn’t respond, he glanced at him -- Rowan stood within arm’s reach now, and tears streamed down his cheeks. “I miss my dad.”

Jean-Luc hesitated mere seconds, and then took two steps to gather the boy into his arms. It was all the encouragement Rowan needed -- he cried and leaned against him for comfort. It took a minute for him to recover and pull away. 

“Sorry,” he blurted.

“I know I’m not your father, but….”

Rowan forced a smile, though his face was still red and he kept rubbing his cheeks. “You are, in a way. Thanks. It’s been really hard since he’s been gone. As much as my mother doesn’t respect him, I think she actually misses him.”

Jean-Luc blinked in surprise. It was hard to understand just what was going on with Deanna in this universe. 

“It isn’t that she’s bad, exactly,” Rowan went on. “Dad said she’s had a lot of challenges in life, and not everyone can handle that much stress.”

“Is she in counseling?” It hadn’t occurred to him that she likely wasn’t a counselor in this universe.

Rowan screwed his face up in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Counseling? Mental health treatment? My wife -- my version of your mother, she’s a psychologist, she helps people with difficulties. Trauma, relationship issues.”

But it didn’t do any good. He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think we have anything like that.”

“I wish that you did. It sounds like she needs it.”

“I remember when things were better. She was happier and everything was easier.” Rowan looked at the ground, hugging himself. “Moira made her really happy, when she was born. Dad was happier too. And that was before the war really got going, so there wasn’t a lot of external conflict. When we were always in battle Mother was so terrified that we were all going to be killed. That seemed to be the start of things being bad between them, she wanted to go home, and he kept saying that it was even more dangerous. And then he was right. One of the first worlds they invaded was Betazed. Last year, Dad told me the full story or at least as much as he knows first hand. He says the history as written in the news and in the computer is full of inaccuracies. They can’t tell the whole truth, because it will anger the Cardassians, maybe even to the point of another war.”

Jean-Luc didn’t like the sound of this -- apparently, there were a great many things about this version of the Federation that were not at all like his own. They appeared to be so weak that the Cardassians were able to intimidate them into editing the records. “I have been reading and listening to reports. There was nothing about an invasion.”

“There aren’t very many Betazoids left any more,” Rowan said sadly. “Or Humans. Dad doesn’t want to go back to Earth either, really, but there aren’t many places left to live peacefully without Cardassian interference.”

“You are saying that the Cardassians have _invaded_ and taken over the Federation,” Jean-Luc said, trying not to show how very alarming that was to him. 

"Dad said that's what's happened, though they don't publish that fact in the Federation news. It's kept very low key." Rowan stared wide-eyed -- of course. He could sense everything. “You're feeling how Dad feels whenever there’s any talk of the Cardassians. Hardly anyone talks about them on the _Enterprise._ I don’t know what he did, but they must have done something terrible to him.”

Heaving a great sigh, Jean-Luc turned to the horses, and went to untie the black one. “We can talk more later, if you want, but I’d like to ride for a while, if you don’t mind?”


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you all right?"

Troi turned from the replicator with a tall mug of strong-smelling, steaming beverage. She did look tired, and it was late morning. The briefing had been about half an hour long. "The baby was fussy last night. I think he knows his father is gone. But I'll be fine, thank you for your concern."

Picard watched her bring the drink back to the head of the table. The other officers had left the observation lounge already, dismissed to their respective tasks. He had briefings on his own ship but the differences were clear. "I continue to be impressed. Your vessel is more advanced, and your crew better equipped to discern how to return me to where I belong. I hope that your own captain returns none the worse for wear."

She was sipping, and as he spoke she put the mug down and gazed at him with a perplexed little wrinkle in her brow. "Is there a possibility that he will be harmed?"

"There's always possibilities, but that wasn't what I was insinuating. My wife has -- " He realized where that could go, and stopped abruptly.

"She isn't like me," Deanna said softly. The radical shift of tone had an immediate impact for him. She'd been professional, polite and firm so far. That her voice suddenly went to velvet registered in him on a physical level. It sent him back to a time when his wife had been that way consistently, soft, affectionate, warm.

"No," he rasped, trying not to remember. He swallowed the beginnings of tears -- the familiar tickle in his throat, the prickle in the eyes. Every time he thought he'd finished mourning the changes in his life, there were reminders.

"I'm sorry," she said. Too soft, too warm. Probably mourning her own loss as well. 

He realized that she was safe -- that this was someone he could talk to without having an impact on the rest of his life. She was working hard to get him home, and then he would never see her again. And her eyes were so concerned and sympathetic. Before he could have a second thought, he was speaking. "She was wonderful, until our second child was born. There were hints before then -- don't get me wrong. She had a temper, and she could be impulsive sometimes. But I didn't see them as signs. Quirks, I thought. Not difficult to manage."

Her position in the chair shifted; now she leaned forward slightly, her head tilted, her hands in her lap. Her face had settled into an expression he decided must be concern, detached but interested, with a slight crease in her brow. "It didn't stay that way?"

"War escalated, and she wanted to go back to Betazed with the children instead of staying aboard while we were at red alert almost daily, in skirmishes with the Cardassians. Intelligence I saw suggested that they were making incursions deep into Federation space. And because she wasn't even an officer I couldn't show her any of it. I had to ask her to trust me. She did, for a time, but it eroded. And then each time she became angry it lasted longer... sometimes for days."

"You think that she will mistreat him?"

He exhaled loudly, trying not to roll his eyes at it. "I think she will try to seduce him."

Though he braced for a reaction, because he was accustomed to grandiose and immediate reactions from his wife, she gazed at him without a hint of upset -- no anger, no hand-wringing anxiety. "How will you feel if she succeeds?"

He laughed -- couldn't help it, the question winged in from nowhere. "Good gods, what -- how will _I feel_?"

"You sounded resigned to the idea. I know him well. He isn't you. He wouldn't let her."

"Are Betazoids very different, in this universe? Although it might be that she was raised on Earth instead, I suppose, and you might have been on Betazed."

She nodded slowly. "I was raised by my mother and her family. Had I not had family, I would have been taken in by a Betazoid family. It isn't widely known but we actually have an agreement with the Federation that in the event a Betazoid child living with his family elsewhere is orphaned, he's to be taken back to Betazed, to be raised by a Betazoid family. It has to do with being telepathic. Our psychology is different. There are problems with emotional stability if we are not raised with our own people."

His thoughts immediately went to his children, and his throat closed up. That led to her leaning forward and briefly putting a hand on the arm he'd been resting on the edge of the table. "Jean-Luc," she said quietly, drawing his attention back to her.

"I have three children," he said thickly. It was impossible now to keep his distress under wraps.

"You have children who are bonded to you, and living with her, and it isn't the sort of problem that's learned. Are they doing well?"

Thinking about how well they were doing made him smile. "They are. Excelling in school and they all seem even-tempered and respectful."

"So you are doing well with them."

"I hope so. I want to teach them the truth, when they are old enough. My son is old enough that he's started to understand already."

"What truth?" She had a look that suggested she knew, and didn't like the thought.

"That the universe they live in is the result of failures on the part of Starfleet Command," he admitted, for the first time out loud. "That the peace the Federation has is really subservience, for the sake of survival. That an admiral chose the wrong path, the wrong way to handle the Cardassians, and committed us to the loss of Vulcan, Andoria, and other key member worlds, which led to the loss of the war. That anyone who is overheard speaking this out loud comes to an untimely end. I don't see how it can possibly be walked back. So I stay on a vessel going through the motions until my children are adults, rather than live on a world changed forever, that reminds me every day that they will never know the Federation I remember."

She didn't seem surprised. "They use Starfleet to their ends? Hide their role in the Federation?"

"The Cardassians enjoy torture and domination," he said, predictably feeling that old familiar anger about it, "whether anyone else knows about it or not. They savor control and power the way my father would savor a good glass of wine. In this case they enjoy using Federation worlds to feed their elite while their own people continue to starve, and they manage it entirely by controlling information."

Her eyes held sympathy and dismay, and disgust twisted her upper lip slightly. "It seems there are more similarities between the two realities than I thought. However -- we didn't lose a war with them. There was an odious compromise that was made instead of a treaty. And in the wake of the Dominion War they are the ones needing help, so the Federation is sending supplies and medical personnel."

"So I understand -- thank you, for not restricting access to the computer, by the way. I confess that I did listen to a few of my counterpart's logs, in addition to asking questions about a variety of subjects. Not the personal ones."

She smiled a little at that, and he thought he must be finally seeing her thaw a little. She loved her husband, he didn't doubt that for a second -- he suspected that the hard, formal demeanor she'd maintained was her way of coping with a great anguish that her husband was gone. Anger was how his own version of her often handled fear, or grief, but he'd also seen her this way. The senior officers had been glancing at her with a concern that seemed to confirm that theory. "I didn't see how it would hurt for you to have access. He would understand your need for information."

"You trust me," he said, not quite accepting it.

"Should I not trust you?"

He found himself smirking back at her. "If I said no, you would sense whether I told the truth, yes?"

She did laugh at that -- just a singular burst of joy. "You've learned that asking questions can get around it."

Picard held up his hands in surrender. "Self defense."

Deanna sipped her coffee. "Do you have a ship's counselor, in your universe?"

"We do not. I noticed that you have one on the senior staff -- Davidson?"

"I was the ship's counselor before I became first officer."

"It's hard to find a psychologist in my Federation," he said. "I've read about them. But World War Four on Earth did a lot of damage. It took a long time to recover from it. I don't think I've met one in my lifetime. Starfleet is very different here than it is there."

"I'm going to give you some reading material -- articles and books, about the psychology of Betazoid-Human hybrids, about parenting, and some other things I think you would benefit from. It will help you when you return. Which, I hope, will be within the next day or so, but it may take longer for Engineering and Sciences to sort out the way to get you home."

Picard blinked, touched by her effort. "Thank you, Commander."

"I hope it helps," she said, rising from the chair.

When he stood to go, as she was obviously waiting for him, she surprised him by stepping in and putting her arms around him. After a few seconds he reciprocated. It was the first time in a while that anyone other than his children had done so, and being held that way shook something loose in him. As they parted he found he'd shed a few tears. She looked him in the eye from inches away, and for the first time in a long time, he had the impulse to kiss her.

Of course, that was not going to happen.

He heard her sigh, and then he froze as she moved forward again and pressed her lips to his. It wasn't a long kiss, nor a passionate one, and she backed off again too quickly.

"Deanna," he said, before he caught himself. He'd addressed her by rank all along, as it had kept the two realities neatly separate from each other.

She touched his shoulder, ran her hand down his arm, briefly gripped his fingers, and smiled -- this time, it wasn't any of those subdued versions of her smile, but a bright and affectionate one that lit up her eyes. "I have the feeling that it would be a unique and remote universe, in which I might find a version of you that I do not love in some way. By the time you get back to your quarters, you'll find the computer will have something ready for your perusal. Let me know if you need anything?"

His hand moved before he thought about it, and she tolerated his fingertips on her cheek, in her hair, his palm on her face, and tilted her face upward slightly as he brushed his lips across hers. He didn't linger, didn't look back, left the room and fled from the bridge without looking at anyone, very aware of how his body had responded to that moment of intimacy. It reminded him of what he had lost as his wife had made her long, slow change to what she was now.

It kindled something in his chest that took him the short journey back to his suite to understand. He hadn't felt determination in that long, that it was difficult to recognize.


	4. Chapter 4

Jean-Luc returned to his assigned quarters after Rowan went his way, citing a necessity to do some school assignment. He fell to contemplating the differences between himself at twelve and this young man who understood far more than he had at the same age.

It was a certainty that parents did their best to protect their children. The problem was of course getting the children to understand that. Jean-Luc could look back and remember his own father's rants and demands, and hear the parent who was frightened of losing a son. After conversations with Deanna and reading to educate himself as they prepared for the arrival of Yves, he'd come to the sad conclusion that his younger self had definitely made mistakes in dealing with his father. He could almost hear Deanna reminding him that young men often lacked insight. That it was normal to an extent, for children and their parents to disagree. But it didn't keep him from grieving the lost opportunity to know his father as an adult. He intended to find a way to guide his own son without the clash and anger, to keep it from happening again.

Of course, that would only be the case for him if he could get back to help Yves become an adult.

Jean-Luc thought about Yves and decided. If he heard nothing by the next alpha shift, he would go back to the bridge and ask. If no progress had been made toward a solution to his situation, he would start to make suggestions. There had to be a way back.

When the chime came, he was deep in thought, imagining what he wanted to tell Yves the teenager, and how to go about it in a way that might engender less resistance. "Come," he said before he thought to find out who it was. 

Deanna swept into the room, wearing an off-the-shoulder shimmering green dress. She carried herself like royalty. Head high, moving with grace and confidence. Or arrogance? "I understand," she said haughtily, "that you've been spending time with my son."

"He's a fine young man," Jean-Luc said, not responding to her tone. He watched her come to a halt, standing before him and gazing down her nose at him.

"Do you have a son?" She kept frowning, her hands on her hips. 

"He's four months old. I've been thinking about him, and my wife."

She tilted her head, her expression suggesting she was calming somewhat. "Please don't speak to my children again."

Jean-Luc found he was a bit sad at that injunction, but he said, "I haven't gone looking for them, and I can guarantee that I will tell them to go home, if I see them again."

She crossed her arms, took a couple of steps, and sat on the chair to his right. "I want you to go home. Jack tells me they are still working on a way to send you back and bring back my husband. They can't seem to figure out how to replicate the event that brought you here."

"I wish there was more that I could do to help."

Now she was starting to look sad -- what the anger had covered, he guessed. "Your wife is an officer. No wonder you don't feel an attraction to me. You -- _he --_ always preferred the company of officers. So much to talk about, that I don't share with him." Her voice held resentment.

"I think that's another of the many differences," he said, trying not to become enmeshed in a game of comparisons.

She was so like, and so unlike, his wife. It was difficult to look at her directly. When he tried, he found himself softening toward her in a way that made her anger more difficult to bear. She sat there and stared at him as if trying to understand him. "The children love you," she said at last, shocking him. "Because they love him. They talk to him more than they talk to me. My own children don't _trust_ me."

It took him a few moments to find words for a response. "I'm not experienced with children, but I am doing my best to learn. I observed them often, but only in the past couple of years have I spent much time with them. Mostly I try to listen to them."

"You sound like _him._ "

Jean-Luc leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and hoped she wouldn't start sobbing. "You seem very angry at him. Maybe... consider trying to talk to him about starting over, forgiving each other and -- "

"He wouldn't forgive me," she blurted, interrupting. Shaking her head in distress, she rolled her eyes. "He was _so angry_ when I told him I was pregnant again. He won't talk to me about much of anything any more."

That was difficult to reconcile, given the obvious bond between the children and their father. His counterpart obviously loved them. But, having another child with her only further tied him to a woman who seemed to want a very different life. Jean-Luc watched her cry and fight for composure.

"He keeps talking about how the Federation has changed," she went on. "He says we can't go back to Betazed. But I know that I could do better there!"

"I'm not certain what you mean, do better," he replied, unsure of what else he could say.

"I was raised on Earth. My father told me later, my aunt offered us a home -- she begged us to stay and warned him." She was crying again, wringing her hands. "I wish Daddy listened to her. I just don't have any -- "

He caught himself holding his breath, waiting for her to stop looking around, wringing her hands, shrugging uncomfortably. Waiting was difficult. He wasn't sure what to say or do, and while he thought that it likely didn't matter at this point he was reluctant to cause her any more distress than she already suffered.

"I have these _mood swings_ ," she exclaimed, waving her hand up and down. "I can't keep myself calm. When I went through the Phase it was _horrible_ , he wouldn't -- I wanted him and he refused. _So frustrating._ "

Jean-Luc was caught up in sorting out how he should react to this. Running away felt like a strong contender, but he found himself feeling sympathy for her, and for the children. And for his counterpart. He still felt at a loss at times, trying to understand his wife's culture. The mention of the Phase did not help matters, as he started imagining what that must have been like for them. He sat up and back, trying to understand how to respond. Or if a response was expected.

Deanna's stiff posture softened, her head dropping forward slightly as she stared at the floor at her feet. "I've made terrible mistakes," she murmured, tears starting to creep down her cheeks again. "Because I start to feel so driven to do something and can't stop myself, and then it all goes bad."

Jean-Luc was getting the impression that something had gone awry in her ability to manage her emotions, due to having been raised among humans. He remember too what Rowan had said, about there being no counselors. "Have you ever tried to speak to a psychologist about it? Have you spoken to him openly, this way?"

For a second anger sparked in her eyes, but she might have been taking cues from his genuine concern, as it went away quickly. "What good would it do?"

"If I understand why someone is having difficulties, I'm better able to help them. I would suppose that to be true of him as well. And a psychologist helped me a great deal, at a point in my life when I was at my weakest and least able to cope."

She frowned and gazed at him sharply. "What did the psychologist do?"

"She helped me see that emotions can be useful. That extremes aren't helpful. When I was young I tended to indulge every impulse. As I aged I went to the other extreme, then gradually found my way to a sort of compromise. At times I wasn't comfortable in a situation -- became avoidant, struggled to handle the stress of a choice in a relationship. After spending time with her, I gradually understood how to have emotions and still be rational -- how to find a balance between the rational and emotional parts of me. I'm not perfect by any means. But I am not as reactive, or as stiff with children, as I once was." He found his footing at last, thinking about Dr. Deanna Troi, who he had come to respect in her hours spent helping him recover from trauma and find his way to a better frame of mind, as well as the officer she could be in other settings. He knew what the psychologist would say -- she'd said it to him, when he asked her what therapy could do for him. 

"Do you and your wife talk to each other this way?" 

Her question, asked with a tone that suggested disdainful amusement, brought him back to full red alert. He'd started to relax, thinking about Deanna and about being less on edge with this version of her. He'd expected her to see reason, he realized. Expected her to trust him, without any evidence that she would. Regrouping, he smiled with resigned amusement at himself. 

"We do sometimes. More often we talk about other things. Sometimes we don't have anything to say, and don't talk at all. If nothing I am saying is of any value to you, I'd appreciate it if you would leave, so I can go back to thinking about how I might get back to her."

Her eyes widened, her chin dropped a little, and for a few moments she sat like a statue. Then she laughed, but it was not at all the happy-sounding, melodious laugh his wife often gave. "You think your advice can help me. You know nothing about my situation."

"I know very little, that's true. But I wasn't giving advice. You asked me a question and I answered truthfully."

Deanna stopped in mid-turn. She'd stood up and was clearly about to leave, but he kept startling her. Standing over him, gazing down at him, she seemed to be deep in thought. "You're also very calm and accepting."

"I see no reason to be otherwise."

"Would you be different," she began, reaching across and starting to slide the dress down her arm, "if emotional reactions were requested?"

"Not in present company, no." He strove for diffidence, and took another deep breath, knowing anxiety would be obvious to her.

Deanna shrugged and spun about, marching for the door. But she stopped short of the sensor's range, and glanced back at him. He thought she might ask again, or do something else to provoke, but seemed to think better of it and continued out of his quarters.

Jean-Luc slumped back on the couch and closed his eyes. He had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't over. 


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a long time since he'd studied so hard. Picard took a break from the searching and the reading to eat. There was a lot to take in -- the computer was quite helpful, and there were more books and articles about parenting, Betazoids, and history than there were in his universe aboard his ship. 

He was quickly learning that the people in this parallel reality were blessed beyond all measure -- the progression from Earth being caught up in its own strife, to a space-faring people making friends in the galaxy at large, had largely gone without the major extinctions, wars, and pandemics that his Earth had endured. And there was _so much_ about psychology and trauma. Reading some of the information about trauma had illuminated quite a lot about his extreme emotional difficulties, after his capture and torture at the hands of a Cardassian gul. He had blamed himself at the time for being so out of control. The problem had been compounded by his wife being in Phase -- her mood swings had been extreme and her demands for sex had come at the worst time. Under normal circumstances, he would have been more than amenable. She was, and continued to be, very attractive to him.

It was actually a relief to have the computer announce a visitor. He stood up as Troi came in, smiling pleasantly. "I wanted to see how you are doing. And let you know that we feel we are close to a solution to sending you home."

"Good news," he exclaimed with a grin. "I hope we can do it soon."

"We are seeing indications that the switch is affecting subspace," she went on, tucking her hands behind her back. "The longer it takes to rectify the situation, the worse the effect. So we have had some of our sciences department working double shifts. I see you're making good use of your time." She glanced down at the PADDs on the couch, and the tea cups sitting on the coffee table.

"It's more and more obvious that your reality is much better informed, and you have advances that we are not yet seeing -- this wealth of information you have provided me is far more than I'll be able to memorize in the short time I have with you. I wish there were a way that I could take it back with me, but of course, that wouldn't work. Do you have a moment?"

She nodded and took two steps to perch on the end of the couch, while he sat down again. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I asked the computer about you, and him. I asked about a lot of things that I want to ask forgiveness for, because it felt intrusive, but it was ultimately quite informative. You were his _therapist_ before. And he trusted you -- long before you were together, he trusted you completely, with... everything."

It was interesting to watch her response, playing out in her face. Such sadness and affection for her version of him. "And I trust him."

"You can afford to, in a universe where people do not compete for resources."

Her sympathetic expression touched him. Sympathy wasn't something he saw often. "I know."

"How are you doing? How is the baby?"

He had the impression Troi wasn't expecting that from him; she seemed shocked. It took her a moment to respond. "I'm doing as well as anyone could expect, I suppose."

"He's been through a lot, more than I have," Picard said, thinking about the litany of injuries and near-death experiences in his counterpart's file. "And that's saying something."

Her black eyes studied him, full of questions. "Tell me about your children," she said, catching him off guard. "You said you have three?"

"Yes. Rowan is thirteen. Moira is nine, and Monima is five. Your son looks a lot like Moira, when she was four months." He smiled, thinking about them. "I hope they are doing well. I fear that Rowan is neglecting his math, in my absence. And I hope the girls remember to feed Murphy on schedule."

"Murphy? You let them have a pet on the ship?" 

"I had reservations, it's true. But he gives them a lot of reassurance and comfort, when I'm on the bridge. I take it that too is a commonality?"

Her sad smile answered the question. "My mother gave him to our cousin when I was young. They didn't get along. I still see him from time to time. Do you get along with him?"

"He can be strong-willed, but for the most part we're amicable. You like him more than my wife does."

Surprise suffused her face. "She really is very different. I'm sorry."

"The children named him after one of the characters in the old cowboy stories their grandfather reads to them," Picard said. It was easier to talk about the cat than about his wife, especially when a more rational version was sitting in front of him.

"As I did." She glanced at the PADDs again. "Have you learned anything new to help them?"

"I hope some of it will help. The information about trauma and reactions to it was illuminating. The difficulties I had after I was tortured by the Cardassians make more sense to me now. I had...." He almost stopped there. But she watched him with a sober expression that suggested she understood too well, and judging from his counterpart's logs, she had helped him through the aftermath of that experience. "I was recovering when she went through the Phase. And so I know that she is pregnant with someone else's child." His throat closed down on the words as he spoke them, and it was all he could do not to cry.

"So early," she commented. "I haven't been through that yet."

He inhaled deeply, grabbing the tangent to recover from the revelation he'd never confessed to anyone. "I don't know much about that part of Betazoid biology. It's hard to get such information."

"It sounds like that time was overwhelming for both of you. She probably feels guilt and takes it out on others, which is typical of mood instabilities in Betazoids. I wish there were more that I could do to help," Deanna said softly. "Perhaps you can help her."

"Me?" He'd tried to, so often. Tried to reason with her over and over. Most days they existed in a standoff, carefully avoiding certain subjects.

"I know you are enough like him to understand that you've probably tried to talk it through with her, repeatedly. But this isn't something you can expect her to resolve on a cognitive level. You can do as you did with the children, however. Practice being with her and help her see with your behavior that you want to help her. Bonding with a child is on a nonverbal level. While she isn't an infant, you might make progress by forgiving her and showing her you want to help."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Your children are stable, you said. She's contributed to that. She may be having mood instability, but there has to be potential to change, so I think there is a chance that if she bonded with you more closely she might be able to stabilize."

Picard pressed the heels of his hands against his brows, trying to recover from shock. "You think that I can help fix something that's been broken all her life."

"I didn't say it would be easy. It wouldn't happen overnight. But your children will be adults. They'll go have their own lives. What will you do then? I think that both of you need to find a way back to each other. It's easier together than it will be alone."

Exhaling loudly, Picard leaned back, almost laughing at this. "I'm sometimes convinced that nothing will ever be easy."

"Perhaps not. But it could be easier than it is." Her slight smile didn't do away with the seriousness in her eyes. "You've been through so much already. What do you have to lose by trying?"

"I agree with the cost-benefit analysis. But I suspect that it will not be a straightforward problem. Do you have suggestions, as to what specifically I should read next, to help me to that end?" He gestured at the PADDs sitting between them on the couch.

Deanna slid closer, picked up one of them, and went through the screens with deft touches of her fingertips. "I think these will help," she said, handing it back to him with four of the long list highlighted. "And perhaps later today I can come back and discuss it with you further. I need to go to the bridge."

He watched her leave. Indulging a brief fantasy of staying here, he acknowledged the impossibility of it and opened the first highlighted document and started to read.


	6. Chapter 6

When the chime sounded, Jean-Luc awakened abruptly and sat up. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, while listening to one of his doppelganger's logs. "Come," he said, looking around. It was taking less time to orient himself to his circumstances each time.

This time, rather than any of his "family," Data came into the room. Jean-Luc smiled happily at the sight of his old friend -- but there was something about him that was slightly off. The android seemed... mechanical. Stiff.

"If you do not object, I have been asked to perform a detailed scan of you," Data said.

"Is this part of figuring out how to return me to my universe?"

"It is, sir. Please accompany me -- we would like a spectral analysis, to help us determine what might send you back and return our own captain."

Jean-Luc, already standing up, didn't hesitate -- it would give him an opportunity to see what the labs were like. He walked with the android out of his quarters, noting that Data walked stiffly. A difference; the version of the android he knew had more natural movements. This time, as Data didn't indulge in chatter as his counterpart did, Jean-Luc paid closer attention to the ship and the other people walking the corridors. People were casting curious glances at him as he walked through the ship. Friendly looks were nonexistent.

"How are you doing, Data?" he asked, trying to start a conversation. His own discomfort with the android's silence drove him to it.

"I am functioning within normal parameters." Data's tone was almost pleasant, but without the hint of warmth or friendly glance.

Jean-Luc had already been missing his friend, since Data had moved on to a new posting, but this made it harder. He finished the walk to the lab in silence.

Data left him standing in the middle of the room and went to adjust some of the devices on the platform. "Step into the sensor array," he said without a backward glance.

Jean-Luc overcame the urge to leave -- this was the same room he'd been in, when rescued from assimilation. The familiar framework, the platform, engendered a sense of dread that he knew was irrational; old trauma was difficult to shake. He stepped up anyway, and watched the android who looked like his friend but acted like an android. When Data at last looked up at him, the expressionless face made him sad.

Data hesitated. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"You may," Jean-Luc replied, hoping that it might start a conversation.

"Your expression seems sad. I understand that humans do not do well in isolation. The commander said that he told you to remain in quarters while we work on a way to send you back. Are you in need of assistance?"

"I'm fine, thank you. I have been spending the time reading. Are you any closer to understanding how I got here?"

"We believe there may have been a quantum fissure that we did not detect. It is now detectable, a short distance from our present coordinates."

"That quantum fissure is a result of my presence, I believe. It will get bigger the longer I am here. The other version of me has to return, and I have to go home, or it will continue to spread."

The android cocked his head. "That information was not given to me before."

"I did try to offer it. I was told to allow you and the others to resolve the issue."

"That seems odd, if you have information," Data said.

"I thought the same. One of my crew had been through something very similar. We didn't have much opportunity to study the issue, because it was never clear exactly what started the phase shifting -- he was moving through multiple parallel universes imperceptibly."

Data started to work at the console, no doubt running the scans he had intended. "How did you resolve the quantum fissure?"

"There were multiple rifts, into many different realities. The crewman had to get help, to isolate the one that matched the reality he was from. Then he had to fly the shuttle he'd been in during the original slip out of his universe through the fissure. It sealed the opening -- the engines of the shuttle were adjusted to emit an inverse warp field."

Data's range of expression wasn't as broad as Jean-Luc's friend back home, but that explanation caused a wrinkle in the android's brow. "That would be consistent with my current theory of how best to address the problem. Thank you for your input."

"Are you -- "

"I have completed my scans," Data announced. "Would you like me to accompany you back to your quarters, sir?"

The abruptness startled him to silence. Jean-Luc stepped down from the framed platform.

"Are you well, sir?"

"I'm sorry. I'm having difficulty with the differences. In my universe, you are one of my very close friends, Data."

Another puzzled look from the android. "But I am an android."

"Yes. And I have the feeling you have not been treated very well here. You seem surprised that I would consider you a friend."

"Is my counterpart in your universe treated differently?"

Jean-Luc smiled sadly. "I think so. You don't appear to expect to be treated like a person."

Data stepped away from the console, closer to Jean-Luc, almost toe to toe. "I am not just a machine, to you? But I am not human. I was manufactured."

"But you were declared a sentient being in my universe. You're my friend. You're capable of so much more than just following orders. My friend Data has relationships with others, he plays music and creates art." He felt terrible for this version of Data, so straight-faced and no expectations of being treated well.

"I see." Data stood there stiff and unyielding, no expression at all, and it brought Jean-Luc to recognizing that there was no hope. This version of his friend simply wouldn't understand. And there would be no opportunity to help him further.

"Did you get the information you needed? Is there anything else you need?"

"Yes. I appreciate your cooperation."

Jean-Luc turned to go back to his quarters, to continue attempting to distract himself from missing all the people he knew and loved.


	7. Chapter 7

"So how does this work?" Picard asked, staring up at the warp core. Engineering on this vessel was different than his own. LaForge, whose artificial eyes were startling all over again, stood with Troi and explained.

"We're going to generate an inverse warp pulse with the engine," he said. "Just a single pulse. I've run some simulations and we ran it by Data, just to check the math. I think we've got it dialed in to be sure we're sending you back to your own reality, rather than shuffling you off to some other universe."

"Data?"

"He's first officer on another vessel, but he was happy to spend the time double-checking," Troi said.

"He's an android here as well?"

"Yes. And a very good friend." Troi's smile diminished, as he reacted to that internally. "You aren't friends, in your universe?"

Picard found that confusing -- the android had a bland personality, if he could be said to have one at all. "I wouldn't call him that."

Deanna looked very sad indeed. "Perhaps he didn't have the same opportunities," she said, turning to LaForge, who seemed surprised and dismayed.

"So you'll stand anywhere here," the engineer went on, gesturing around in front of the warp core. "Won't take but a few minutes to work, or not work."

"All right. I'm ready when you are." Picard hoped beyond all hope that it would work, and though he wished he could take the literature and information back with him, he thought just what he'd read and heard so far would make a difference.

Troi stepped up to him, gripped his arm, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck."

"Thank you, for everything," he murmured. She moved away toward the other side of the room, to stand and watch. The engineer shot him a sympathetic look and followed, but turned to a console and started to tap in commands. He paused.

"Five. Four. Three. Two...."

The pain was excruciating, again. He blacked out. When he came to, his body throbbed and ached, and the first thing he heard was crying.

"Captain?"

Dr. Crusher's smooth professional tone was somewhat reassuring. He opened his eyes, let them adjust to the lighting in sickbay, and glanced around at the gathered faces at the side of the biobed. Deanna, in tears. Jack, with serious eyes. It seemed right.

"Did it work?" he whispered, unable to do much else.

Crusher looked up from the panel at the side of the bed. "It looks like it did -- whatever you're talking about. I assume our counterparts in whatever universe you were in were able to do something that brought you back?"

"It's really him," Deanna whispered. She actually seemed relieved.

Picard closed his eyes and groaned. His head hurt, his heart hammered, and it hurt to breathe. Hopefully the pain would pass soon and he would be able to see his children.

* * *

Jean-Luc opened his eyes, and spent a few seconds staring at the upper level around the warp core. It was, at least, the warp core of a Sovereign-class vessel, he noted as he closed his eyes again and waited for the waves of agony to subside. He heard, through the ringing in his ears, what he thought must be a tricorder. Someone was speaking, but the words weren't clear. 

Something cool touched his forehead. When he looked again, he discovered Deanna was leaning down to look at his face, wide-eyed. Wearing the right uniform, and then he felt her fingers around his. He started to laugh -- it was a mockery of a laugh, he could barely breathe and stopped within seconds as it hurt. 

"Jean," she said, infusing it with such pathos that he knew for sure then that he was home.

He must have blacked out, for he opened his eyes again and found she'd switched sides. The pain had receded significantly. And he was able to inhale enough to speak. "Dee."

"We're at all stop. I had the doctor check you, and engineering is vacated presently to give you a chance to recover. I thought about having you transported out but the doctor said you would be fine once you adjusted. Do you want to try to stand?"

He pushed himself up and found that sitting wasn't too bad, so reached up as she hopped to her feet and let her help him up to his own. He swayed, and she put her arms around him. It stabilized him, and then he was holding her while she cried. He tried to thank her but couldn't speak. 

When they finally parted, he was breathing again, the pain subsided to a dull ache, and she was beaming at him despite the tears on her cheeks and her red-rimmed eyes. "Welcome home," she whispered brokenly.

"We have a lot to talk about. First I want to know if he caused you any difficulties?"

She shook her head. "Other than the fact that he was here and you were not, no. Did...."

"I was left to myself most of the time, in that sad universe. I don't think they would ever have found a way to get me back. I was counting on you."

She nodded, her brow creased with sadness. "We discussed some of the differences." Deanna reached up to trail her fingers down his face. "Carlisle is on the bridge. Let's go home?"

"You look exhausted," he said as he turned to go with her.

"I don't believe I've slept more than an hour at a time since you disappeared," she confessed, her voice still husky with tears. "I've kept it together most of the day. But I've had to have Guinan or Malia take the baby more than once. I was so afraid...."

They reached the doors and as they groaned open before them, he saw the engineering staff lined up in the corridor outside. Jean-Luc kept his head up and walked on, his first officer at his side, past the subdued smiles of crew; he tried to smile at Geordi, standing at the end of the line. His friend nodded and said nothing as they passed, then turned and ordered his department back to their stations.

They entered their quarters and Jean-Luc surveyed the walls -- all was as he'd left it, the frame on the wall displaying one of the many wedding pictures, and yet, it felt surreal. There had been times over the past week that he'd believed he would never see any of it again and almost lost hope. He caught the sob, twisting it in his throat into a gasp.

"Yves is asleep," she said.

"Good. I need something to drink. I need -- " He needed too much. There was no way he could sleep. His nervous system still jangled with the aftereffects of the transition.

Deanna brought them tea, of course, and it continued to feel unreal as he sat with her sipping it. Her sad eyes said she understood.

"It'll be better tomorrow," he said. "I'll be able to talk about it. Will we be able to take time off?"

She huffed, her head coming up and her smile turning to a scowl. "You aren't going back on duty til the doctor clears you. We're still on the survey, and doing fine. I already told Geordi he'll be on the bridge for Alpha shift."

The long, slow exhale was followed by another. He sipped the chamomile, and looked again at the room -- the painting on the wall across from the couch was one of Data's attempts at watercolor, in the style of Monet.

It was going to be all right again. He just needed to recover.


	8. Chapter 8

"You enjoyed spending time with them," Deanna said with a sly smile.

Jean-Luc had to confirm it -- she was right. They were sitting in their quarters, having just finished breakfast in their usual spot on the couch. He'd been telling her about his experiences. Not the same as counseling, but it felt very much like it. There had been other occasions in which he'd experienced life-changing alternate realities that she had helped him process. He finished his coffee and leaned to put the cup with the other dishes on the coffee table.

"Rowan impressed me. Despite the differences in their circumstances, he was doing very well. He struck me as being very mature for his age, certainly much more so than I was at that point in my life."

"Is that another way of saying he grew up too quickly?" Deanna asked.

That gave him pause. "Perhaps it is."

"We've had that discussion, about your regrets and the fine line between youthful mistakes and things that you think impacted your life negatively." She curled up her leg, turning to face him and leaning back against some of the cushions. She'd put on a bright blue dress rather than a uniform.

"I wouldn't say I entirely regret some of it as much as I once did. Perhaps I'm reacting to Rowan's maturity from that place, however."

"You said there were two girls?"

He smiled at the thought of them. "Moira and Monima. They looked quite a lot like you."

Deanna gazed at him with questions in her eyes. He knew he was being studied. "What was that like for you?"

"It was difficult to think that they were stuck in that situation -- I would feel that way regardless, but it was much harder than it would have been before to step back and do nothing. I felt drawn to help them. It contributed to feeling helpless and depressed that I couldn't."

She didn't respond, which felt odd -- but of course she was no longer his counselor. He noticed her heavy sigh when her chest moved visibly. "Do you want a daughter?"

The question came out of nowhere. He'd expected her to ask for details about spending time with the girls, or about the other version of Deanna. It robbed him of rational thought for a few moments. She waited quietly, hands folded in her lap.

"What I want isn't -- " That wouldn't help him. She could tell he was having an internal war with himself. "You have a career. We already have a child. Adding more children would complicate things even more."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"I hate when you do that," he grumbled.

She laughed at him, gently and quietly. "I didn't say it was a good time to have one. I didn't even say I was willing to have another child. I merely asked if you wanted a daughter."

"I... do, yes," he confessed at last.

"Something to bring up in a few years, I think. After the baby is walking and talking." She reached with her foot and nudged his calf. "You didn't want to tell me you wanted another child?"

"I didn't really feel that I had a right to. After all the suffering...." He trailed off as she frowned.

"It wasn't comfortable, it wasn't always pleasant, but it wasn't always bad either. Being pregnant was also rewarding, you know."

Jean-Luc had to agree. There had indeed been many happy moments. "I simply don't like that it was such an impediment. I am glad, however, that we are here and not in some bleaker universe without hope for change."

"I gave your counterpart plenty of material to read while we were searching for a way to send him home," Deanna said, sitting up then scooting closer to him. "About trauma, and parenting. Psychology."

"Did he read it? He definitely needed the help."

"He did, and he was appreciative." Deanna nudged in closer to put her head on his shoulder. Putting an arm around her helped her find a comfortable posture. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I was worried for a while."

"The nightmare didn't help. Thank you for letting me sleep in." He'd awakened later in the morning after a restless night. Between the baby's frequent demands for attention and his gradual re-adjustment to being home again, neither of them had slept well.

"I had a difficult time with this one," she confessed quietly. "I was afraid you wouldn't come back. That we wouldn't be able to get you back. Geordi called Data to help him with the calculations. We weren't sure it would work."

"There's always that risk," he said, accepting it as he did each time. Turning his head, he kissed the side of her head, tightening his arm around her. "I was counting on our crew to be on top of things. The crew I was with didn't seem up to the task."

"I hope we can finish this survey without another issue. I'd like to spend some time with you before the next stressful mission."

He initially felt the impulse to say something about wanting to be back on duty tomorrow. But she was warm, pressed up against him, and her hair smelled faintly of almonds, and he'd missed her in a visceral way -- he'd lain awake at night aching to be home with her. Closing his eyes, he let his head roll toward her until he could feel her hair on his cheek and savored these moments. Yves would likely be awake again soon.

When she started to cry, he almost asked why, but shifted to hold her in both arms instead. He thought he understood well enough. Being in command in his absence, she'd had no one to go to for comfort. She curled in against him and when she stopped shaking, they sat in each other's arms in silence, taking solace in each other.

* * *

"I'm so _glad_ you're home," Monima sang out again, bouncing and running into her room ahead of them.

Picard glanced at Moira, so sedately walking with him, and she rolled her eyes. "I am too, Dad. But I'll settle for a hug good night." 

He gave each of them a hug, one of many since he'd been released from sickbay, and left them in their messy room, for once not chiding them to clean it -- they would go back to the usual routine later, for now he was simply glad to be home despite the inevitable pending confrontation. He hadn't had any real discussion with his wife since his return. 

He went through the living area, and Murphy grumbled at him on his way through. The cat usually slept on his big cushion in a corner, rather than in the children's rooms, as it kept them from squabbling about who he was with. Rowan was already in his room, probably reading. The happy reunion with the children over, he had to face their mother now. 

She was already in bed. Surprisingly, she said nothing as he passed through to the bathroom. He usually waited until she was asleep to come to bed. He'd attempted to sleep elsewhere in the past, but it was upsetting to her, so in the interest of keeping things peaceful and stable for the children, he capitulated. As he did so often. It was not a sword he wanted to fall on at the moment either. Though he'd finally stopped feeling all the pain associated with shifting from one universe to another, he was exhausted.

After he slipped under the covers and turned out the lights, he felt her moving in the bed, rolling over in the dark. "I'm glad you were able to return."

"So am I. It was difficult to be gone."

"What was it like, where you were? _He_ said it was very different."

This could be a trap -- she sometimes fished for something to be upset about. But he saw no reason to avoid honesty, at this point. "The ship was very different. Some of the people were. Technology seemed more advanced. I read some of their history and listened to some of my counterpart's logs, and while there were a lot of things that were similar, it did seem that their Federation was much more powerful and had more resources than ours. It made me wish I could bring some of it back, but matter from the other universe would cause a much larger problem. I had to settle for trying to remember as much as I could."

"Is that all you did?"

"Yes. For the most part. I spoke to the first officer once in a while, and spent some time in a holodeck. I would have been allowed to visit other parts of the ship but didn't feel a need to."

"The first officer was my counterpart, _he_ said. What was she like?"

That would be what she was fishing for. "She was distant. Missed him, she said. They had a four-month-old boy."

A pause, while she considered what she sensed from him. "Did you miss me?"

He spent a moment choosing words, as he'd anticipated this question. "I know that in the past we've had a lot of arguments and anger, but this experience was unsettling and illuminating. I did in fact miss you, and of course the children. And I thought about what we've said before, about wanting to change the way things have been. I'd like to try. Not just for the children. For you, and for me."

Another silent pause. He steeled himself, but her eventual response was benign in tone and words. "What do you mean?"

He'd schooled himself not to feel immediate happiness, if she responded positively. That, too, could be a mistake. "I mean that I want to have a better relationship with you. Not to forget everything but agree together to move forward and attempt to do something different."

Another silence, in which he focused more on himself -- taking deep breaths, relaxing as much as possible. Given his exhaustion it took little time to do. She actually moved closer, her arm pressing against his. "Tell me more about how you want it to be different."

He braced himself internally. "That's something we should determine together."

Deanna said nothing more, but stayed close. When he awakened later, she had actually remained there at his side, her hand resting on his chest and her cheek against his shoulder. He lay in the darkness staring up at the stars he could see through the viewport, hesitating to disrupt the moment. It was strangely comforting.

* * *

Jean-Luc picked up the baby from his crib and walked with him out into the living room, circling the room and soothing Yves as he cried. Deanna had left for an afternoon meeting and promised to be back shortly. As his first twenty-four hours home progressed, he felt more settled and more thoughtful, processing his experience. And now his son had, by his wife's report, resumed his schedule of fussing every few hours and not more or less constantly.

He turned from the replicator with a bottle and headed for his chair to feed his son. He still felt self-conscious about caring for the baby, but after a few moments of watching Yves drink milk as if starving while looking up at his face with gray eyes, he was less anxious. "Settling in" was taking time, but it was getting easier.

_Bridge to captain._

"Picard here," Jean-Luc replied while Yves quietly ate.

 _Incoming transmission for you, from Commander_ _Data_.

"Put him through, thank you." He smiled at the thought of his friend.

_Captain, I am happy to hear you have returned._

"It's good to hear from you, Data. How are you?"

_I am well. I continue to find my current position challenging, but I am functioning within normal parameters. How are you and Deanna?_

"Deanna's doing well. I'm recovering from the experience -- the shift was surprisingly painful. I'm here with Yves, who's hungry."

_I have been contemplating the experience of parenthood since the birth of your son. I am considering another attempt to create offspring myself._

Jean-Luc smiled down at the round-cheeked baby gazing up at him while he thought about Lal. "Do you feel you're ready?"

_Did you feel you were ready?_

Data remembered everything, so he already knew the answer to that question -- but Jean-Luc said, "Of course not. As I've told you before, it's a rare parent who would feel ready -- I can't say that I feel entirely confident even now, and he's four months old. Have you figured out how to overcome the issues you had with Lal that led to her death?"

_I have devoted some of my off duty time to analysis of the data I collected at the time. I have also consulted with Mr. Maddox, though I have not informed him of my intent to create another android -- I hesitate to inform him that I am doing this, until I have verified that my child would be safe from anyone who might believe they have a right to claim ownership._

"A reasonable approach. Have you sought legal counsel?" Having another child of Data's appropriated by someone as a project now seemed to Jean-Luc a much more reprehensible crime. Yves finished his bottle; Jean-Luc picked him up to hold him and pat his back gently.

_I have contacted an attorney to explore the matter further. I wish to be adequately prepared this time in all aspects. Do you find parenthood has been a satisfying endeavor?_

"So far. I'm looking forward to a time when he's more talkative, however." The faces of the children in the other universe sprang to mind as he thought about it. He found himself actually missing them a little.

_I was hoping you would tell me about your experience with the alternate universe. Was it similar to previous experiences such as the time Worf was slipping between alternate realities?_

"It was similar, but it wasn't. I stayed in a single universe for the duration, and it was a very painful and noticeable transition back and forth. I would suppose that to mean that a different phenomena was responsible for the shift. And it was a depressing reality to be in. Thank you, by the way, for your part in helping me return -- I was told you were consulted?"

_Yes. From the readings and the description that Geordi gave me, it was quite unusual. Why do you say that it was depressing?_

"There were similarities, but many of the people I have come to consider family were very different indeed. The Data in that universe was not at all the same -- I wanted to help him. But he was not treated very well, so hadn't realized his potential quite so much as you."

A pause, while that was digested and more questions formulated. But then Data surprised him. _You played a pivotal role in my career and in my growth as a person, Captain. I have been remiss in not thanking you specifically for your continued support in my development. In fact, part of my reason for contacting you at this time is to request further support. I wish to develop more than one positronic life form. And I would like for each of my children to spend a significant portion of their development with you. Do you have any objections to this plan?_

Jean-Luc continued to hold the baby in one arm, slowly rocking as Yves fell asleep, and found himself speechless. At length he said, "I would be honored to help you in any way I can, Data. It has been a privilege to call you friend." Then it occurred to him to wonder at the android's choice of words. "Are you planning to create androids, or...."

_I have decided that not all of my children need to follow the bipedal model. Do you have suggestions? I have been reviewing the many life forms in the known galaxy and I believe that restricting myself to humanoid forms is not necessary, but it did occur to me that it might result in more prejudice were I to design my offspring too differently. It took a great deal of convincing to change the minds of those who designed the exocomps._

Jean-Luc pondered for just a moment, then it came to him. "You know... I have been contemplating the problem of pets. On the one hand, it's obvious to me that children can benefit from having one. On the other, I resist the mess and chaos that can come with having a non-sentient creature in my quarters. And there is also the possibility of a pet harming a child, or the child harming the pet, however unintentionally."

_You are suggesting that I create a non-sentient life form as a pet?_

"I am saying that a sentient life form would be better suited to my purposes, as a companion for the children. Throughout history dogs have been used for protection, for hunting, and for companionship, for example. For my purposes, a sentient dog would be preferable -- he could be instructed as to when and how the children need defense, who to alert in the event of an emergency. And just as you need not limit your offspring to humanoid form, they also need not be committed to a single form. If one of your children decided to move its positronic brain into a different body, he or she could easily choose any of the many body types."

_A most ingenious solution, Captain. I will think about this. Do you have a preference for a dog?_

"Many humans have them. It would be easier to use a domesticated animal -- a Sicarian razor beast, for example, would be too wild so a well-trained one would be unbelievable. And it would need to be of a size that worked in the typical allotment for a Starfleet family's quarters."

_I will contact you after I have drafted some preliminary designs. Thank you for your suggestions._

"I'm glad I could be of some help to you."

After Data terminated the connection, Jean-Luc gazed down at the face of his sleeping son, and thought about Rowan and his sisters. And, about Robert, and all the mischief the Picard boys had found together. He imagined what it might have been like to have a sister.

Perhaps someday....


	9. Chapter 9

Guinan looked up from what she was doing behind the bar as he approached. Today she wore a burgundy neck-to-ankle wrap, and a matching hat. "Well, hello."

"Good morning." Jean-Luc returned the smile, and settled on a bar stool. "I know, I haven't been down to see you in weeks."

Her smile subdued yet warm, she turned from the bar to fetch a pot of hot water from the replicator. Part of the old ritual of making tea, which she kept in sealed jars beneath the counter. "Having a baby can be time-consuming. How is he?" Guinan had been leaving them to themselves, though she was one of Yves' primary caregivers while his parents were on duty. The survey wasn't demanding the focused attention of command staff, so Jean-Luc had been spending more time with his son.

"Doing very well."

"And how are you?" She kept her eyes on the pot and teacup in front of her, as she put a basket of fragrant tea leaves in the pot and placed the lid on it.

He hadn't spoken to her since he'd returned from the other universe. Two weeks had passed, while the system survey continued and he made slow progress back to feeling settled. "Much better than I was."

"I guess the other universe had an impact?"

Her gift for understatement hadn't changed at all. Jean-Luc huffed quietly. "I didn't expect to still be this distracted by the experience, true. But there were some compelling aspects of it."

Guinan poured tea, and placed the cup in front of him. "Compelling?"

"I have been pondering and grieving a little, that I'm coming around to agreeing with my father."

Her smile dwindled slightly. She knew his relationship with his father had been rocky and ultimately led to some rash decisions on his part. "You saw your father in this parallel universe?"

"Oh, no... it was very different there. Much of the history of the Federation had gone differently, resulting in a less well-informed and more autocratic society. It appeared that the Federation was under the thumb of the Cardassians. And it was obvious that the family my alter ego had was greatly impacted by that -- I didn't see much opportunity for the children as they became adults, but he was doing the best he could for them. And it led me to thoughts of my father, and how he must have been convinced that he knew what was best for me. Of course I didn't understand the greater context of the world I lived in as a child. My father felt he had sufficient information to base his beliefs in, and I was naive as all young men are."

"You think your father was right after all, that you shouldn't have left Earth?" she replied.

"Not exactly. He was right that the universe is dangerous. That I would be risking my life leaving home, and that I would lose my heritage. Which I did for quite a long time. But he was incorrect that I would lose my heritage. It's more important to me than it was before, in fact. And I find myself wanting to pass it along to my son."

"But in a way that doesn't make him resist your efforts?" Guinan was nodding and smiling again. "You likely also don't want to alienate him to the point that he repeats your exodus into the galaxy at large, never to be seen again."

Jean-Luc found himself nodding in agreement at that. "And it may be premature to worry about that."

Guinan's sly look suggested she knew more than she would reveal. Which was usual for her. "Very likely."

He drank tea and thought about the children Guinan had mentioned having -- wondered if she had had any contact with them. Although perhaps a side benefit of a long lifespan was being able to accept and move on from losses, or it might have something to do with not being human? She rarely shared very personal information as a general rule.

As if she might be reading those thoughts, Guinan said, "I sometimes wonder where my son is. I'd like to think he's out there somewhere."

Jean-Luc never knew what to say, when she commented on her own past this way. With a human he would understand it to be an invitation to continue discussing it, but Guinan often deflected when asked directly about her past. This time, he decided to take a chance. "What's his name?"

Guinan looked up from her preparations of another pot of tea, her brows furrowed. "You've never asked that before," she said, completely catching him off guard.

"No," he blurted. 

Now she was smiling, and that led to his feeling confused, which was a profoundly uncomfortable experience for him. "In all the years we've known each other, you've never asked about the names of my children."

"I've never had the impression that you wanted to talk about them."

"You're right. I don't." She bent her head to spoon tea leaves, a slight smile giving away that she was genuinely amused by the situation.

"I suppose, then, that you don't want my help in looking for them."

Her head came up so fast the hat wobbled a bit, and she stared at him, her mouth slightly open. "Oh."

"I have to wonder that you've never asked."

"Well." Guinan stood back a step, tucking her hands into her sleeves. "I suppose I hadn't thought about that. It's not as though they aren't perfectly capable of finding me."

"Are they?" They looked at each other, while he contemplated the implications. Then he decided not to project his expectations on her -- she only seemed human, he reminded himself. It wasn't as though he could expect her to conform to human values. Glancing down at his cup, he shoved it forward. "Well. I should check in with the bridge. I wanted to ask, are you available to babysit tomorrow evening?"

That renewed her smile, and turned it sly. "My first evening with the young Mr. Picard. I'd be delighted. Planning a night out?"

"The string quintet will be playing." And he had a holodeck reservation, and a plan that he had yet to share with Mrs. Picard, but was je certain she would approve. "Fourteen hundred hours?"

"I'll be there."

* * *

"Something's changed," Rowan said.

Family time had always been fraught with tension, but this time the monthly trip to the holodeck had been less stressful. The girls were actually talking to their mother. The three of them were seated at a table on the deck of a house - the program was of a large home on Risa, which had been lost to the Cardassian Empire some years ago and existed now only as holodeck simulations. Rowan and Picard were standing at the other end of the deck, near the table where a chess game had been set up. Ostensibly, they were playing the game, but had started talking about his science project.

"You mean your mother," Picard said, after a glance at his wife. Deanna was chatting calmly with her daughters, sitting with her hands over her belly. She had been asking more questions and actually trying not to lose her temper, as he reviewed all he'd read in the parallel universe, about mood regulation skills and their importance in relationships. That she was showing interest in improving relationships with him and the children gave him hope.

Rowan gave him a look that said he understood that his father was sidestepping. Picard smiled, though it was sad to see such suspicion in his own child's eyes. "I've talked her into trying to be less angry," he said very softly, though he thought it might have been a good conversation for her to hear now.

Rowan's happy smile was enough to confirm it. "So you were right," he said, glancing at his mother. His smile dimmed when Picard didn't respond in kind. Now that he could sense the emotions of others, it was becoming more and more difficult to shield him from unpleasant truths. There had been many occasions that he'd reassured the children that their mother might get better, less volatile and capricious, more affectionate. Picard had seen token efforts from her before. He had difficulty seeing the current state of affairs as real change, and hoped that it was, while continuing to be careful in what he said to her and how he reacted to her moments of anger.

"I hope that I was," he said simply, not wanting his hesitance to dampen his son's enthusiasm. "She's making good efforts."

"What about the baby?" Rowan whispered.

"What about it?"

"I don't think it's yours." The boy stared down at his toes, clearly dismayed.

"It doesn't matter," Picard said, thinking about the circumstances that had led to the pregnancy. He didn't think Rowan was ready for a full explanation of the Phase or his father's experiences with the Cardassians that had incapacitated him at the time.

"It doesn't?"

Picard put a hand on his son's back, sliding it up so he could grip Rowan's shoulder reassuringly. "Not at all. Come on."

As they approached Deanna, she looked up from the board on the short table in front of her -- Moira, on her knees at her mother's right, smiled up at them, as Monima leaned in to drop a red piece on the grid. When Moira glanced at the move, she cocked her head, confused. "Mom?"

"How is the lesson coming?" Picard asked. He could see that 'nima had intentionally failed to win. There was no way, after so many games of kadis-kot with Rowan and Moira, she wouldn't have seen the opening. But Deanna was still learning how, so he guessed it must be that their youngest was trying to help her feel more accomplished. Giving her chances to win, by not winning.

"This is not what I expected," Deanna said. Her cheeks were a little flushed, but otherwise she seemed to be weathering the experience of learning a child's game for the first time.

"You should move there," Picard said, leaning in to point.

"Da-aad," Moira wailed, the indignant complaint of the pre-teen. But Deanna put the blue circle in the indicated spot, and 'nima yelled 'kadis-kot' on her mother's behalf happily.

"Can we have something to drink?" Rowan asked. Moira leaped to her feet and raced to the open doors behind them, anticipating the affirmative given as she did so. Rowan went with her.

"Get your mother some water," Picard called after them. He leaned and reached for another chair, dragging it forward. "And you should get ice cream," he told Monima.

"D'you want some, Mom?" she cried, bouncing in place at the thought.

"I'll have the chocolate," Deanna said indulgently. As Picard sat down, Monima went after her siblings, yelling as she went.

"She's being very generous today. Usually she cheats to win," Picard said.

"She does?"

"She's cheating to let you win, if you look here." He indicated the pattern of green pieces.

That brought a heavy sigh, and a shake of her head. "Yes, I see. I'm a little slow at this game. At least winning isn't the real point for me."

"They're enjoying having you play with them." He paused, collecting his thoughts. Listening to the kids squabble in the distance over who got to replicate something first. "How are you feeling?"

Her hand slid up and down the side of her belly, as it often did, an unconscious gesture -- she was doing a lot of thinking these days. "It's a good day," she said at last, by which she meant her usual collection of discomforts was minimally present. Often her back ached and various joints would swell.

"Good. Should be any day now, I would suppose. We haven't talked about a name?"

She seemed to be staring at the board, and the frown and the distance in her eyes suggested she wasn't thinking about kadis-kot. Raising her head, she blinked away a few tears and looked him in the eye. "You've been so different since you came back. And everything you've taught me has helped. I didn't think it would be possible to repair relationships with the children so quickly... I feel badly about my choices. Especially when... I was in the Phase."

It took effort not to respond directly to that, to not let the remnants of the pain he'd felt when he'd discovered she was pregnant direct his behavior. "I've already decided that isn't an issue for me. I know you were feeling abandoned, because I wasn't able to be there. I wish that it could have been different."

Deanna pressed her lips together. He wondered if she might be re-scripting her response as well. "So do I," she replied after a moment.

"We can only change what we do today," he said. "I'll keep choosing to do that. And I still intend to for as long as you are willing to work with me."

That led to her smile -- a promising response, where before, for so many years, there had been no smiles. "Do you have any suggestions for a name?"

Picard exhaled, letting the hope settle in. He had to think that her appeals to him were attempts to mend, rather than manipulations, for now. "What about Robert?"

"Or Ryan?"

He couldn't tell if that was a preference or just a suggestion. So he lobbed another suggestion. "Paul?"

"Jean-Paul?"

Picard snorted. "Well. That may be -- "

"Here!" Monima cried, inserting herself into the space between their chairs and holding up a bowl of ice cream. Deanna took it from her placidly and used the spoon to taste it.

"What do you think we should name the baby?" Deanna asked.

It was a misstep. Monima wriggled and laughed for joy - Picard braced himself for another wild ride through a negotiation with 'nima. But she surprised him. Leaning against his knee, she laughed again. "We should call him Bruce."

Deanna laughed at it, and Picard couldn't help being caught in the moment and laughing with her. "Bruce, hm? What about Troy?"

Wild laughter from her at that. Moira had been teasing her little sister for weeks about Monima's crush on a boy named Troy in her class. "What about Max?"

That was Moira's crush. Well played. "How about... Baxter?"

"Or we could name him after Murphy!"

It invoked the _nemoya_ \-- Murphy had been sleeping on the ground just off the end of the deck, and at the mention of his name, his slant-eyed head rose into view and he peered at them over the edge of the deck, bits of grass clinging to his ears. He was sleeping more and more in his old age. When nothing of interest to him was forthcoming, he huffed and disappeared again. Within seconds his quiet snoring resumed.

"How about Robert Ryan Picard?" Deanna said, injecting seriousness into the banter.

Her selection touched him. His deceased brother Robert had been on his mind more and more lately. Robert had been a member of the underground movement on Earth. He'd died trying to take back Paris from the Cardassian soldiers stationed there. He nodded, unable to find the words, and Deanna's smile tinged with regret was her response.

Rowan and Moira returned, breaking the moment, to offer them drinks. "The baby's name is Robert," Monima announced in her very forthright excitement.

"After Uncle," Rowan said excitedly - his enthusiasm dimmed immediately.

"Yes, after my brother," Picard said, accepting the glass from his son. "Shall we play another game? Something we can all play."

As the debate started, he exchanged another look with Deanna. He found the increase in eye contact with her overall more encouraging, though at times she regressed under stress into the petty, angry person she had been. She may change again -- but perhaps, this time, with all that he'd learned from the wealth of information in the other universe, he might be able to make progress with her. In the grander scheme of things it wasn't as much as he hoped he would do, when he'd set himself on a course to become a captain. He'd imagined being able to turn the tide in the Federation, to more positive and egalitarian ends. But over the past years he'd felt increasingly alone in that goal.

His family needed him. Keeping them on a ship far from the civil wars and unrest on the worlds they had access to seemed the most sane choice at this time. Perhaps in the future they would find a place to land -- he sipped the glass of lemonade, wished for tea but accepted that this was what they were drinking together, and thought about all that he'd learned in that reality where people had the luxury of going and doing whatever they found fulfilling, instead of making choices between survival and slightly-better-than-usual survival.

Someday... maybe.


End file.
